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Sheila Kohler, Africans
The author of The Children of Pithiviers and Dreaming for Freud reads from her fiction.
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April 17, 2018
There was a socket in the wall my mother told me not to touch. The wire innards of the plug spilled out of the unguarded hole. The wires looked like black spaghetti.
April 10, 2018
“And you say they’ve been here how long?”
“We don’t know exactly. Our estimate is a month, approximately. It’s difficult to be sure, we don’t keep tabs on our employees, so it could well be longer, a month and a few days, perhaps.”
“We don’t know exactly. Our estimate is a month, approximately. It’s difficult to be sure, we don’t keep tabs on our employees, so it could well be longer, a month and a few days, perhaps.”
April 3, 2018
Cold hole in my right pant
through which
grass’s eyelash brushes my calf,
flirty infinite
through which
grass’s eyelash brushes my calf,
flirty infinite
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